


If You Like

by sleepymccoy



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Dealing with, Fluff, Honest Conversations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Support, Post Apocalypse, Self Confidence, Support, Trauma, aftereffects of emotional abuse and bullying, and some less honest conversations, aziraphale's stretch marks are gold, bed sharing, firguing out the last prophecy, general forgiveness vibes, like sort of, mainly aziraphales but crowley plays a part, more like body admiration, some nice hugs later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25196959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: i saw a tumblr post discussing Aziraphale's surprise when Crowley did the whole, "you can stay at my place if you like," bit on the bench and it sent me in a tailspin writing this. Cos if Aziraphale's surprised at that small a kindness, how in the fuck did he come around to accepting sending Crowley into Heaven on his behalf in like a day?? This is me exploring that. It's a lot of Aziraphale struggling to throw off his way of handling being emotionally manipulated and actually trusting Crowley, so the early chapters are more angsty but it cheers up
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 156
Kudos: 519





	1. Just Get Home

"You can stay at my place. If you like."

Well, wasn't that a wonder. And he looked so sincere about it too.

Aziraphale turned away. Best not look. Crowley was confusing to look at at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times. It wasn't the worst, mind. They'd staved that off. 

But even so.

Crowley wasn't making any sense. Why would he invite Aziraphale over? Aziraphale, who had insulted him and disregarded him in the face of his kindness.

Perhaps it was just kindness, then. A habit of being kind even though Aziraphale had nothing left to give in return. No protection from Heaven, no Arrangement, no earthly clue what that last prophecy meant. It was just Crowley, being kind despite the cruelties of his life.

Aziraphale's lip nearly wobbled. He knew Crowley was kind, but to have it so gently given to him, given to an angel who did not deserve it. It almost hurt to receive. 

He ought to remind Crowley. Give him a moment to rescind the invitation. Perhaps it had been habit, not sincerity. Aziraphale had burnt the last of their bridges very well recently, but perhaps so recently that Crowley hadn't remembered. 

He looked back at Crowley. He glimmered in the street light, beautiful in his dark clothes. 

"I don't think my side would like that very much," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley's head tilted minutely. "You don't have a side anymore," he whispered. "Neither of us do."

Aziraphale looked at his shoes, he couldn't take the loveliness that Crowley exuded any longer. 

How could this be allowed to happen? There was no logic to it, no reparations. He had atonement to do, he couldn't be treated so wonderfully yet. 

But Crowley. Oh, Crowley was inviting him over and Aziraphale wouldn't refuse. He wouldn't refuse Crowley a thing ever again, he had wounds to heal, apologies to make, forgiveness to earn. Even if Crowley was extending this unexpected kindness already, Aziraphale would fight to be worth it. 

"We're on our own side," Crowley said, something tender and unspeakable in his voice. 

Aziraphale felt a small, pitiful sound crawl up his throat. It couldn't last, he hadn't earned it yet. Aziraphale would blunder and fool his way around and Crowley would realise his side was better with just the one member. 

Until then, though. Until then, he could be by Crowley. And perhaps he could work hard enough, be good enough to delay the inevitable. He'd delayed the inevitable with Heaven for six thousand years, he was very good at people pleasing. 

He turned and smiled. Crowley relaxed and Aziraphale was pleased.

-

Crowley nodded off on the bus, leaning against the window and fogging the glass as he dozed. Aziraphale watched him, studying the changing creases of his face as lights whizzed past them. 

They made it back to Crowley’s apartment without fanfare. Aziraphale quickly found an opportunity to make himself useful and insisted on Crowley's safe distance as he cleaned up the residual holy water.

Crowley wandered out of sight and returned in some silken black clothes Aziraphale had never seen before. He looked luxurious and untouchable. Then he yawned and he just looked adorable.

“You go to bed, dear boy, I'll keep a watch,” Aziraphale muttered.

“No point in a watch, angel,” Crowley said. He stepped across the very clean patch of floor gingerly. Aziraphale watched closely, keeping an eye for any smoke or sting that may cause, but it seemed he had done a good enough job. Some of his stress lifted off. 

“Oh, you're quite right,” Aziraphale agreed quickly. 

“They'll either turn up or they won't,” Crowley continued, “warnings won't help without a plan.”

Aziraphale completely disagreed. With warning they could run. It wasn’t a plan, but it could buy time. Delay until Crowley woke and they could talk. But if he insisted it would be tiresome to Crowley, and who knew how much patience he had left for the ridiculous angel. Best not push his luck. It was more important that they be able to talk in the morning. And Crowley already thought Aziraphale was pushing back, he was explaining himself when he needn’t. 

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale said, “it was a silly thing to suggest.”

Crowley looked at him oddly. “No, it wasn't.’

“That's-” Aziraphale hesitated. That was a trick. It didn’t fit, it didn’t make sense in the scheme. It must be to put him on his back foot, like Gabriel did, small compliments to shake him off balance so his next words would cut deeper. 

Aziraphale knew how to play this game. “Well,” he said lushly, falsifying a flattered smile and pretending to tamper it down. “Thank you.”

Crowley stared at him, then ran his hand down his face and groaned into it. 

Aziraphale mustn’t have been gracious enough, Crowley felt his compliment had gone unaccepted. He opened his mouth to correct it, perhaps to say something flattering back.

“I'm going to sleep,” Crowley interrupted, “just for a few hours. I'm no use like this.”

“You're wonderful use, of course you are,” Aziraphale said. “Top notch!”

Crowley met his eyes. He looked exhausted. 

“But I- I agree you should sleep,” Aziraphale amended.

“Good-oh,” Crowley said dully. He went to a door, then paused and faced Aziraphale fully. “Listen,” he said. His shoulders raised uncomfortably. “When they come it'll be fast, so, ach, would you stay in the room with me?”

Aziraphale stood from his seat at the kitchen bar. “Of course,” he agreed. “Yes, whatever you like.”

Crowley grimaced. “Really?” He shrunk as Aziraphale approached, flattening against the door as if he were hiding. “I know it's weird.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Makes perfect sense, you smart thing.”

Crowley’s jaw locked. “Right,” he agreed blandly. Then he pressed against the door and opened it, slipping into the darkness. 

Aziraphale followed. His eyes adjusted easily to the black. It was a barren room but for the ornate four poster bed shrouded in black gauze. There wasn’t even a window.

Crowley went right for the bed, crawling under the sheets quickly. 

“Where would you like me?” Aziraphale asked.

“I don't mind,” Crowley muttered. He was a smudge of pale skin and red hair, surrounded by black fabric and blurred by the gauze curtains.

“Really?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley hummed and the gleam of his eyes disappeared. Aziraphale stood in the dark and breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> using compliments as a self defence measure breaks my little heart


	2. Just Get To Sleep

Aziraphale found which wall was closest to the outside. There was a chamber beyond it, but it was only two meters wide and full of storage boxes. He could force a few of his extra eyes through the wall and look around, but was struggling to get far out enough to see the sky. And it was tiring to try, he was close to physically spent. Really he needed to sit down with a book and some tea, but the situation hardly allowed for that kind of indulgence. 

"It's bothering you," Crowley mumbled. 

Aziraphale flinched in surprise. He'd tried to keep quiet. 

"You're still up, is everything okay?" Aziraphale asked at a whisper. 

"No, I can hear you fidgeting."

Aziraphale's heart sank. "I'm sorry," he said, although he knew it wouldn't be enough to make up for the misstep. 

Crowley groaned and moved in amongst the sheets. "What d'you need?"

"I'll be still, I sincerely apologise."

"Angel," Crowley sighed. The sheer curtain at the end of the bed lifted and Aziraphale met Crowley's glowing eyes. "What would it look like? The warning signs, what you'd keep watch for."

Crowley wasn't going back to sleep, Aziraphale had ruined that. "It doesn't matter Crowlely, you were right."

"Answer the question, please."

Aziraphale sighed. Direct instructions were a sign he was being difficult. "Lightning without a storm," he said simply, answering as succinctly as he could. 

Crowley nodded. "I have a room with a sunroof, I'll sleep there."

He moved immediately, rolling across the bed and slipping off with sheets in tow. He was halfway to the door before Aziraphale caught up with this change. 

"Please don't inconvenience yourself for me," Aziraphale begged, chasing him down the hallway.

"You need to relax. You've been through a lot. This is fine," Crowley insisted. He moved lazily, swaying and tripping over the bedding he dragged. He threw the sheets and pillows on the floor of a room and began to kneel.

Aziraphale's panic tinged with sorrow, this was too far. "You can't sleep on the floor like that, Crowley, please."

Crowley smiled at him. "I'm alright," he said. He indicated the roof. "And you can see the stars."

Aziraphale looked up and saw the stars. 

Crowley shifted on the floor. An idea occurred to Aziraphale, a service he could perform. He clicked his fingers and brought the mattress from Crowley's bed into the room with a dull thud.

Crowley rolled to face the intrusion. He was pressed up against the side of it, still on the floor. He sighed and sat up, raising an eyebrow at Aziraphale. 

"Allow me," Aziraphale whispered, one refusal from begging.

Crowley nodded and pulled himself and his sheets onto the mattress. Aziraphale sat on the floor and cleaned his neck to watch the sky. 

-

Aziraphale was laying in the bed, a few feet from Crowley. It felt brave and dangerous. Crowley was curled in a ball, tangled with the sheets, his hands reaching across the bare mattress towards Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale was ignoring Crowley's hands right now. 

He was watching the sky, looking for flashes of light that would mean an angel on the move. 

There were a few clouds around, but nothing that would mask anything of importance. The moon was off to the side. The stars were bright. It was very quiet. 

A cloud passed in front of the moon. As it left again the first sliver of light revealed and sent a jolt of panic through Aziraphale. But it was just the moon, not a threat. Nonetheless, Aziraphale found a moment later that he had wrapped his fingers around Crowley's wrist. He froze.

Crowley hadn't woken from the touch. If he let go that had as much a chance of waking Crowley as not. Of course. So he kept a hold, and kept still. 

The moon passed out of sight, beyond the view the skylight gave him. Aziraphale's eyes stayed open and he watched. He felt Crowley’s pulse under his fingers and was calm for the first time in weeks. This calm was tinged with misery and hopelessness, but it was calm at least.

Crowley shifted, making noises not unlike a whimper. His hand moved and Aziraphale let it go, but Crowley didn't leave, he just pulled back a few inches so their fingers rested on each other's. 

Aziraphale turned his head and met Crowley's eyes. 

"Oh," Aziraphale breathed, "sorry, have I jostled you?"

"Nah, nah," Crowley croaked. "Anything happening?"

Their fingers still touched and Aziraphale knew full well he'd climbed into bed without permission. His throat tightened with regret. "I- I couldn’t see the sky from sitting very easily, I apologise if this is-"

"It’s fine, don’t talk so loud," Crowley interrupted.

Aziraphale stopped. "Of course," he whispered. "Do you feel better?"

Crowley hummed in assent.

"I haven’t a clue how to help us out of this," Aziraphale admitted.

"S’quite a pickle."

"It is."

Crowley pulled his hand from Aziraphale's, which Aziraphale agreed he quite deserved, and began to roll around. A moment later, to Aziraphale's utter surprise, Crowley had shifted towards him and was almost falling into place at his side. 

Aziraphale breathed out sharply. Crowley curled in, his head resting against Aziraphale's shoulder. His knees raised and pressed to Aziraphale's hip. 

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale gasped, his voice cracking with it. He didn’t understand, but he treasured. Surprise and amazement filled him, to be given this moment, this closeness. It was worth anything and he would do anything to keep it. 

"Okay?" Crowley whispered.

"Yes, yes," Aziraphale said quickly. He shifted his arm and wrapped around Crowley's back, pulling him closer. "Yes."

"I’m glad you’re here," Crowley said. Aziraphale felt the words on his neck and shivered. 

He simply didn't understand why this was happening. It was wonderful, but it made no sense. What could Crowley be getting from this? It was a tactic Aziraphale had never experienced before.

"Me too, oh, me too," Aziraphale breathed. His throat was tight, he was far too overwhelmed and confused. "I am."

Crowley shifted. "What is it?" His tone was gentle, understanding.

Aziraphale felt a threat of tears. He ignored it and faced the sky. "Are you lying to me?" he asked.

"Not at all," Crowley said softly. "Are you?"

"I have no idea."

Crowley seemed to relax in his arm for a moment, then he was gone. Aziraphale clasped his eyes and regretted his words, regretted the honesty of them. 

"Let’s have breakfast," Crowley suggested, "figure out what to do next."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written some angsty bed sharing before, but i think this takes the prize tbh


	3. Just Help Me

They sat in a 24 hour diner that felt horribly disconnected from rational life. The server hadn't blinked at Crowley's 5am order of bacon and eggs with whisky on the side. 

Aziraphale was enjoying the bacon and eggs, cooked with masses of grease and served piping hot. Crowley was enjoying the whisky. Things felt more under control in this awfully lit room than they had on Crowley's mattress. He put the memory behind him - the confusion in it threatened to overwhelm him if he didn’t - and focused on now. Hopefully a plan could begin to form.

"So, will Hell definitely be coming after you?" Aziraphale asked.

"Oh, yeah," Crowley said without hesitation. "Beelzebub as good as served me with a summons with all that traitor talk."

"I see." Aziraphale poked at the vestiges of egg yolk on his plate, carving lines in the mess with his fork. "Can we hide? Move, change our skins, our faces. Perhaps that's what she meant."

Crowley scrunched his face in disagreement. "Maybe. Don’t know if it’d work for too long."

"It would buy us time," Aziraphale said, "we could use it to prove we won’t make trouble."

Crowley sat back and frowned, glaring across the room at the TV on mute. "We need to be untouchable," he muttered. "Something they fear." 

He looked at Aziraphale sharply. "Can we fake the hand of God?"

Aziraphale swallowed. "I certainly can’t do anything beyond the usual angel. Less so, in fact," he admitted. "I’m not very impressive."

"Same, same," Crowley grumbled.

"I could go to Hell on your behalf," Aziraphale suggested slowly. "They may be hesitant to kill an angel. Beg your case for you."

"They’d eat you on sight. And besides, how would that help us?" Crowley asked, stressing the last word.

"It would help you."

Crowley tipped his head forward, his glasses slipping out of the way so their eyes met. "But not you."

Aziraphale felt unpleasantly seen. "That’s okay."

"No, Aziraphale, it’s not."

Aziraphale bowed his head and didn't argue the point, although he disagreed. He knew better than to argue. His plates were collected by a server and a slice of chocolate cake put in their place. Crowley whisky was refilled.

"You can hardly go into Heaven," Aziraphale told the cake. It wasn't arguing, it wasn't forcing his plan into agreement, it was just expressing his concern. 

His skin tightened with stress. He knew he was arguing, and he knew he should apologise and back down. But he didn't. 

"Not as me, yeah," Crowley agreed. "I could dress up as an angel, though. 'Choofe your faces' and all."

"They know you," Aziraphale said widely, looking up at Crowley again. "And, Crowley, I can’t let you go to Heaven."

Crowley frowned and crossed his arms, leaning forwards onto his elbows. "What, you can go to Hell for me but I can’t return the favour?"

"It’s not about favours, it’s about keeping you safe!"

"Me?" Crowley said furiously. He raised a hand, palm out, signalling a stop. "Aziraphale, you’ve got to- I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but  _ shit _ ." His hand shook. He balled it into a fist and hit the table. Not angrily, just quickly. But the cutlery rattled and Aziraphale had to admit he jumped.

"You matter, alright?" Crowley continued. "This self sacrificing bullshit has to end, we just don’t have time for it."

A shot of fear ran through Aziraphale. He kept his eyes down. He'd gone too far with it, he'd known he was pushing and he'd kept at it, how utterly rude of him. 

But he was meant to sacrifice himself, he didn't know what else of use he could offer. Aziraphale swallowed and gripped his hands together. "I- I didn’t mean to-" he stopped, he didn't know how to begin to apologise for this one. He'd never had to fight against someone who cared for him. 

Was it possible... he shouldn't be fighting, then? 

Terror of the unknown swamped him for a moment, and before he could shake it off fully Crowley had moved to speak. 

"Aziraphale," Crowley breathed. His voice had changed, the steel cold edge gone from it. 

Aziraphale breathed in sharply and closed his eyes. He grappled and found his way back to familiar land. It was a trick, a trick to open him up, to weaken him so that the next time he wanted to be cruel it would hurt more. 

He scrunched his eyes, lights sparking in his vision.

"Are you scared of me?" Crowley asked, painfully gently. His voice was higher, uncertain and delicate. "Angel, what did I do to make you-" He stopped and let out an uneven breath.

"Was the time stop too much?" Crowley whispered, "‘cause I can’t do that easily, I won’t do it again."

Aziraphale breathed out shakily and relaxed his eyes, but kept them closed. "No," he whispered, the word pained.

"I touched you this morning, that's just how I wake up, we just won’t- we can- I’m sorry, alright? I really am."

"Stop it, Crowley, dear," Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley didn't speak. Aziraphale opened his eyes to find him leaning on the table to be closer. 

Aziraphale felt untethered in this room. His clothes all fit wrong and the lighting was cruel.

"Your turn, then," Crowley said. 

"You're so understanding," Aziraphale admitted without thought. Those big yellow eyes pulled it out of him. "It doesn't make sense, and I am trying to make it make sense."

He found himself breathing heavily, sure he would be punished for this impropriety, this honesty. Angels weren't honest. Angels didn't admit doubts. He was doing this all  _ so badly. _

He stared at the cake sickly. He shouldn't eat. Gross matter, an indulgence. It was bad for him, it was incomprehensible that he even wanted to-

"Angel," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale looked up. Crowley was looking at him, glasses tipped so his eyes could be seen. He was gentle. He was sad.

Aziraphale returned to his point because of Crowley's eyes. 

"You're not mean, not usually," Aziraphale said, "but that's all I can think of. I don’t understand why you’re being so kind. I have nothing to offer any more."

"Because I like you," Crowley said forcefully, insistence in his every fiber. "It’s not an exchange of goods, I just like you." He stopped and sighed heavily. "What d'you mean I'm not usually mean? Have I been mean?"

"No, no," Aziraphale gasped. "Just, your being lovely makes me weak and, generally, insults follow compliments."

Crowley hesitated, then, "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What do I say that insults you?"

"Not you!" Aziraphale cried. "Not you, dear, but-" Aziraphale stopped. He couldn't voice it, they would know and they would come. He couldn't stand to voice it.

"Oh, right," Crowley sighed. "I should've figured that out sooner."

Aziraphale felt his lip wobble uncontrollably. He bit it to keep it still.

"Listen," Crowley said, "let's not talk about that yet. It's very soon and you're, well, you're upset." 

Crowley didn't move, just watched him until Aziraphale took a breath and nodded.

Crowley sat back and downed some whisky. "First of all," he said more loudly, all bravado, "I spent a few hours yesterday in an existence that didn’t have you at all, remember? And I don’t want to bang on about it, because it was shit, but you have to let me help keep you alive. There’s no point to it all otherwise."

"I like you too," Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley smiled. "Thanks for saying."

It was quiet between them. Crowley summoned the waiter and had his glass refilled. 

Aziraphale took a bite of cake and felt himself calming. 

"How will they do it? In Hell?" Aziraphale asked as he settled.

"They’ve no imagination, so, holy water I reckon."

"No," Aziraphale moaned. The image of it was clear in his mind, the steaming, melting Crowley screaming in agony and fear. He couldn't stand the thought. Then he saw a flaw in the likelihood. "No, how would they get their hands on that?"

Crowley shrugged. "I did."

"But we’re friends, they aren’t- they don’t-"

Crowley's eyes flickered to him seriously for a second, then dropped to look at his drink. His eyebrows raised and he nodded his head to the side, acknowledging a good point. He looked up and stared at the TV, frowning. 

Then, "They’ll trade it," Crowley said darkly.

Aziraphale frowned, thinking about the meaning of that. Crowley had said it like it meant an awful lot. 

It came to him all at once and he gasped.

"You’ll burn," Crowley said. His eyes were on Aziraphale now, focused and serious.

"I have a trial," Aziraphale pointed out. "And I have some arguments. I haven’t Fallen, for one. I might be… okay," he finished weakly. 

Crowley lowered his head, sitting quietly across the table in defeat.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked gently. He was ignored.

-

They made it back to Crowley's flat without fanfare. The sun was rising as they arrived and Crowley insisted on pulling the curtains across every window. To hide from prying eyes.

They sat, Crowley in his throne, Aziraphale on the bare mattress that Crowley had dragged into the room for him. They sat and they both looked like they were thinking about the matter at hand, but Aziraphale knew that at least his own thoughts had wandered. 

He thought, perhaps, he ought to take Crowley more at his word. Crowley had never been cruel to him, not like Heaven had. He may have been a touch rude on occasion, but never hurtful. 

On further reflection, which Aziraphale was willingly engaging in right now, Crowley had only ever been good to him. Challenging, but good. Perhaps even challenging therefore good. He had made Aziraphale think critically and not punished in his disappointment when Aziraphale had not. Critical thinking was good. Aziraphale was doing it now and thought it good.

There was more. The quiet jokes when Aziraphale was sad. How he always knew when to turn up and, more importantly, when to leave. Risking himself not just to save Aziraphale, but to bring him indulgences or simply a good book. And he was consistent in a way Aziraphale wasn't used to. He may be surprising on occasion, but the surprises made sense. Even the holy water had made sense, it fit, it was honest. 

Crowley wasn't an angel, and that was to his credit. Aziraphale shouldn't shoulder him with the behaviour of angels. They were so unlike him. 

Aziraphale sat with his eyes closed and knew all at once his mistrust of Crowley didn't stem from anything Crowley had done, it was a deeper mistrust than that. 

It hurt to know that, that his kind, his colleagues, his siblings had been so foul to him as to damage him. That he was being unfair to someone because he had been treated unfairly in turn. That wasn't right. 

Angels ought to trust, and they ought not have reason to mistrust. Aziraphale had been given reason to mistrust, to doubt words spoken and question intent and honesty. But it was a vague reason, an all encompassing general mistrust. Ethereal in every way.

It wasn't for Crowley to bear. And Aziraphale did trust him, perhaps not in the moment, but when he took a second to consider? He trusted Crowley, he had faith untarnished here at least.

At the very least he knew Crowley would do everything to save him. His life was in good hands, better than if it were in his own. By the same token he felt quietly sure that he found Crowley's life more precious than Crowley did. 

And that was something, at least. Some faith worth valuing. 

"I trust you more than you think," Aziraphale said quietly.

Crowley turned and faced him, a small smile quirking. "Do you?"

"I trust that you'll do your best to save me," Aziraphale said quickly, slightly manically as he hurried to speak before his heart and panic clenched the words from him. "I trust that your kindness to me isn't false, although I don't trust the reason you give. And I trust you enough to tell you this and not fear you."

"Angel," Crowley sighed. He closed his eyes and his head thunked against the back of the throne. "Angel, I'm on your side. We're in this together."

Aziraphale stayed still, wary of startling Crowley out of his words. He leaned against the wall and took care to breathe quietly as he listened and tried to believe.

"We can figure the rest out when we have days and nights free to figure it," Crowley said. His hands raised and dragged down his face in exasperation of desperation, Aziraphale wasn't sure. "But for now let me say my purpose doesn't end with you being safe. I also want to see you happy."

Aziraphale sat up straight. That was a touch too far into unbelievable. He could trust safety, for years Aziraphale's safety reflected onto Crowley's. If one were caught, so was the other. That was the Arrangement. It made sense to have cultivated a habit of safety. But happiness? That was personal. 

Quiet fell and Crowley opened his eyes, peering across the dimly lit room steadily. 

Aziraphale shouldn't ask. He shouldn't question or poke or prod or fish for compliments.

Except it was Crowley. And they discussed challenging things aplenty. What was this if not challenging?

Aziraphale's throat tightened in sadness as he began to speak. "What's the point?" he whispered. "I'm absurd, I'm useless at everything, I'm not worth an iota of effort, I-"

"Aziraphale," Crowley interrupted harshly. He pulled his feet from the table and sat forward, leaning on the arm of the throne towards Aziraphale. "You're smart, okay."

Aziraphale flinched at the compliment, but didn't speak against it. Crowley said whatever he wanted, Aziraphale's control was not in silencing him but in speaking freely for himself.

Crowley continued before Aziraphale could refute him. 

"You'll figure it out before I tell you, but I don't think you'll believe my explanation now." He took a breath, a deep one, then spoke with finality, his voice low and serious. "You are worth everything. I know you better than you know yourself, and you are-"

"What did you just say?" Aziraphale asked. His mind was racing all of a sudden.

"What?"

He couldn't stop it racing long enough to figure out what it said. "Repeat yourself."

"You're worth everything," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale warmed, blood pumping in his ears. "And?"

"I know you better than you know yourself?"

"Yes, you very well might."

"Angel-"

Aziraphale shushed him and he obeyed. Pieces fell into place naturally and Aziraphale smiled.

"I think, my dear Crowley, that you are going to like my idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's figured it out! What a bright little cookie. All it took was accepting that Crowley might need to face a little risk. That's team work babey
> 
> Sorry for the delay posting this chapter. The next chapter is in much better shape and shouldn't be so long!


	4. Just Stay Here

They had swapped places and lived to tell the tale. Then they had spent many hours telling the tale to each other and laughing. 

Crowley seemed tense at the Ritz. Highly strung and ready to bolt. 

They'd won. Or at least survived gracefully. And the air had the scent of change in it. 

Aziraphale invited Crowley in for a nightcap, expecting him to refuse and surprised when he accepted. He looked so like he was about to turn and walk away, never to be seen again. 

But no, he came in and their laughter continued.

They had three nightcaps before silence fell in earnest between them and Aziraphale's sigh earned him a concerned look from a tipsy demon.

"When do you leave, then?" Aziraphale asked maudlinly.

"Did you ask me to go?" Crowley asked, his eyebrows climbing sluggishly up his face in slow surprise. He laughed. "Shit, missed that!"

"No, no, dear," Aziraphale said, waving at him to stay seated. "I mean more broadly. Why should you-"

"This again?" Crowley interrupted. "Why does there have to be a use to it, angel? Can't I just like being around."

Aziraphale frowned and found a line that didn't ring as true for him as it used to. "You never have before."

Crowley shook his head. "I always have," he said, looking very serious from his seat across the room. "Always. The Arrangement was the excuse, not the purpose."

Aziraphale finished his glass of port and placed it gently on the coffee table. Time to try this new reason that sat with him better than the old. "Because you like me," he said warily.

"Yes," Crowley said. Then he threw his hands up and hauled himself out of the couch. "But you were asking me to leave, so I'll go for the night-"

"No! Aziraphale cried out, standing to meet him. "No, Crowley, stay. Stay."

Crowley picked up his glasses and smiled. "I'll always come back, you don't need to worry."

"A little while longer, then," Aziraphale pleased. "Just for a little."

Crowley slipped his glasses into his pocket and nodded. "Alright." 

Aziraphale had figured out one or two things. Nothing too far from what he already knew, but still new. He'd always known he was very different to Crowley's demon peers, and that Crowley thought some of his habits laughable. He hadn't realised until today just how different Crowley was to other demons. And in highlight to that, how similar Crowley and he were in the end.

His time in Hell, brief though it had been, had been eye-opening. The demons were out of step with time, wearing their corporation's death-clothes and unable to spot a good joke. 

He'd seen Hell communicate with Crowley in the latest fashion. Messenger pigeons, telegram, mobile phones. He'd thought they kept up with the modern world as Crowley did, that Crowley's frustration at Aziraphale's anachronism was because he was the only creature Crowley knew who was so. But no. 

It was clearly all Crowley's doing. Aziraphale hadn't seen a lick of contemporary influences downstairs. So Crowley's eye-rolls as Aziraphale proudly wore something out of date or laughed at newer computers felt more like familiarity and one-of-a-kindness than it did exasperation now. 

Crowley was nothing like them. Aziraphale had expected some sass, some foul-mouthed, quick-witted comments at his trial. As he had grown accustomed to with Crowley. He had been disappointed, honestly, by how entirely he carried the proceeding. It had been a breath of such welcome fresh air to sit with Crowley again and meet an equal, a like-mind. 

And he'd realised as they left the park that Crowley likely felt the same, and always had. 

Crowley liked him too. Perhaps their own side would be more easily enjoyed than Aziraphale had originally thought. 

Aziraphale took a step towards him, rather than retake his seat. "You never called in that favour after you saved me from execution," he whispered.

Crowley cocked his head curiously. "Or from Hamlet," he pointed out with a smirk. His voice lilted, teasing and happy. "Or that time I got you the gentler horse to ride. Or when I gardened through the night for you at Warlock's. Or those-"

Aziraphale hugged him and he stopped speaking. A moment passed and Aziraphale tightened his hold, burying his face in Crowley's shoulder like a frightened child. 

"Oh, angel," Crowley sighed. His hands came up behind Aziraphale and rested on his back, holding him in return.

"Because they weren't trades," Aziraphale said, his words muffled by Crowley's jacket.

"No, they weren't," Crowley whispered.

"They were just what you wanted to do."

"See you safe and happy."

Aziraphale shifted one arm higher to wrap around Crowley's shoulder and pull him in close. Crowley took a moment of encouragement, then all poise left him at once. His head bowed to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder and his frame shook.

"Aziraphale," Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale found Crowley's hair and stroked it gently. "I've got you too, Crowley."

"You don't have to," Crowley said thickly. "I'll be here for you no matter what."

Aziraphale leaned into him. "I want to. I want to have you around."

Crowley nodded, the movement shaky and disjointed. "I want to be around. Sounds good."

Aziraphale smiled and loosened his hold on Crowley. Crowley responded reluctantly, letting his grip relax slowly and standing with his eyes downcast.

"I adore you, I really do," Crowley muttered. "You don't have to understand. Don't even have to really agree. Just believe me."

Aziraphale's smile became a grin. "Shouldn't be too hard," he said.

Crowley chuckled quietly.

Aziraphale thought for a moment, trying to believe it enough that he actually thought it true. To be adored would be a surprise. To have been adored all these years would be ground breaking. Earth shattering. Life changing. 

But it was none of these things, it was just surprising. He felt his eyes widen with it and saw Crowley flinch and look away with pity in his expression. 

Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s arms, catching on his hands. Crowley’s fingers curled, keeping them hooked together even as he avoided meeting Aziraphale's eyes. 

"Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley’s head tipped to the side in exasperation. “Shut up with that,” he muttered.

“Oh," Aziraphale said with a smile. “Very well, then."

The fingers entwined with Aziraphale's loosened, then left. Crowley stepped away and ran his hands down his face, his fingers pressing into the dips of him with enough strength to turn his skin white. His shoulders shook and Aziraphale stood there, confused and missing the touch of him, until a broken sob of a breath sounded.

Aziraphale's heart dropped. The air went cold as Crowley cried.

"What- ?" Aziraphale gasped. He stepped forwards, hands raising in eagerness to hold his forearm but not making a move to actually touch. Crowley groaned and pressed his hands flatter, harder against his face. 

"What did I say that- ?" Aziraphale asked.

"No, no," Crowley muttered, the words mangled by the emotion in his throat and the palms of his hands that covered his mouth. He shook his head and dropped his hands, one falling to grapple for his glasses and the other raking through his hair disjointedly. His eyes were full yellow and glassy.

"I should get home," he croaked. He wouldn't meet Aziraphale's eyes, rather was staring up and off to the side. "I'm beat, and it's all- it's good, you're wonderful, just..."

"Of course, you needn't explain," Aziraphale filled in as Crowley trailed off, sounding horribly hopeless. "You must be exhausted, dear. Let's get you a cab."

-

Hailing a cab had been easy. Convincing Crowley to let him tag along for the ride had been more difficult. Aziraphale had resorted to begging which had put an end to things quickly, but did seem rather over the top given that Crowley gave him lifts everywhere. 

Crowley offered to pay the driver double to give Aziraphale an easy trip back to the shop right away, but Aziraphale refused. He didn't have to beg this time, but it was a close thing.

They made it into the flat. It was raining slightly, and Aziraphale had thought to bring an umbrella so he had the smug joy of keeping Crowley sheltered on their way in. Crowley didn't complain about that part, which had Aziraphale wondering if he might be remembering the same moment of their meeting.

Crowley tried to ditch Aziraphale at the door, but Aziraphale muttered something about tea and guaranteed himself an invite inside.

Aziraphale had returned Crowley's bed to its proper state when he'd been in the flat alone, wearing Crowley's skin. He was particularly glad he had done so as he noticed Crowley's shoulders relax slightly when he saw the bed made up. 

Aziraphale picked out a mug for himself from the kitchen and miracled the tea in. It wouldn't taste half as good, but he really just needed a reason to be here a few more minutes. He was hoping to be allowed to stay, but wasn't sure if Crowley would welcome it. If he were unwelcome, finishing the tea would make for an easy moment to depart.

Crowley seemed wired, exhausted and pretending not to be. It was more than likely he would want his time alone rather than keep company, but that he had gone to sleep two days hence with Aziraphale in the room kept Aziraphale from politely excusing himself. Crowley could sleep, Aziraphale could stay up. He just didn't want to leave yet.

Things felt like they were settling at last.

"Are you worried about being alone?" Crowley muttered. He stood in the door to the kitchenette, not yet changed into his pajamas, and watched Aziraphale soberly. "You think they'll come back so soon?" 

"Not at all," Aziraphale said. He took half a step towards Crowley's bedroom. More a shuffle of his feet than direction. Crowley's eyes fluttered down then to his bedroom door. "We're quite safe, I think."

Crowley raised his eyes and leaned his head towards his bedroom in question.

"Just that-" Aziraphale said, then realised that while he may be willing to ask this, he couldn't do so outright. "The night is yet young?" he tried instead.

"Right," Crowley breathed. Then he stood and opened the door to his room confidently. "Right you are!"

Crowley waited with the door open, so Aziraphale shuffled through. The room was as dark as last time, requiring that Aziraphale bring a few extra and angelic eyes into being by his head to see. 

Crowley clicked his fingers and the door shut. When he waltzed past Aziraphale he was already in his pajamas.

"I can make you up a chair this time," Crowley said. He stood by the side of the bed and scruffed his hair loose. "Should've last time, silly not to."

Aziraphale summoned a bedside table from his shop and placed his cup on it. A few books had come along with it, which he quietly filed away in his mind to perhaps return to later if the night grew dull. "I don't see that I'd use it," he said softly into the dark. 

Crowley hesitated, then shrugged delicately. "Okay," he agreed. He pushed a sheer curtain out of the way and sat on the bed, continuing to watch Aziraphale.

Aziraphale's hands shook for a moment, so he put them to use in the hopes it would mask the tremor. He removed his jacket and set it to rest on a hook in the wall that generously appeared, then began to work on undoing his vest buttons. As he did, the course of the evening occurred to him and he began to see the path ahead more clearly. He knew what he wanted, and it felt nice to know. 

He could feel Crowley's eyes on him from across the room. There was no light that could enter this windowless box except for the angel quietly placing his vest on the bedside table who glowed imperceptibly at all times. Only barely perceivable now.

"You may ask me to leave, you know," Aziraphale said, his voice a weak croak. He didn't bother to clear his throat. "I shan't be insulted by it."

Aziraphale pulled his tie undone and heard Crowley's intake of breath.

"Good to know," Crowley whispered. He stood, the movement sharp in the quiet room. 

"Crowley," Aziraphale ventured. His hands shook, keeping them busy hadn't helped, not now that he knew what to say next. 

It terrified him in a small way, but excited him more. That he was excited also scared him. So his hands shook.

Crowley hummed in question.

"Would you do me one more favour?" Aziraphale asked.

There was a breath of a laugh from Crowley. "This is your last one," Crowley said sarcastically.

It wouldn't even things between them, but it may take a step. Open them for some vulnerability. 

Aziraphale felt so untrustworthy, he needed to give Crowley something.

"Undress me," Aziraphale said. 

The sheets whispered and went silent as Crowley shifted. "What?"

"Will you undress me, dear?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's gonna be five chapter, folks
> 
> Also, I explain Aziraphale's thinking more in the next chapter, it just got clunky to put it in the end here so so the last few lines are a little low on description, sorry x


	5. Just Touch Him

Aziraphale could be trusted. He knew he could. He had lied to Crowley, professionally and personally, but he knew why and he knew he wouldn't again. It had all changed, Heaven had proven themselves lacking and Aziraphale saw where the good in his life was.

It was a little bit like giving someone blackmail material voluntarily. Cults did that. Aziraphale had been involved in a few more Christian cults over the years, on Heaven's orders (they'd all fallen apart within the decade, he had made sure) and he'd seen it happen. Heaven had tried it once but no one had volunteered anything that could possibly be seen as sinful. Even Aziraphale had only gone so far as to admit an ambivalence towards eating gross matter.

He had greater sins than that, sins that he treasured. His love for a demon the greatest of all. 

His love for pastries a close second. 

It didn't feel as if he were giving Crowley something he could hold over Aziraphale's head, though. There was no threat that could be made of the back of this. It was just a moment of honesty and vulnerability. Admittedly, a slightly forced moment, but still. Aziraphale trusted Crowley and knew it would fall into place.

Even if it didn’t fall into place, at least he’d said  _ something.  _

Crowley had asked Aziraphale to run away with him. Aziraphale had said no. 

He needed to do something that offered the same amount of depth and trust as that moment. Crowley's voice had cracked when he'd asked. He hadn't been holding back.

He was withdrawn now, even as he walked across the room towards Aziraphale. Skitterish and curled in on himself, not the confident swagger he deserved to always feel entitled to. Aziraphale had done that to him, had taken his trust and honesty and thrown it back. 

Time to make it up. Or at least _ try. _

Aziraphale had undone one button of his shirt, the highest at his neck, when Crowley joined him. 

Their eyes met and Aziraphale nodded, lowering his hands. Crowley breathed out lightly and took the last half step to bring them close before he pinched the end of Aziraphale's tie and slowly pulled the fabric, dragging it out from under Aziraphale's collar. He threw it over his shoulder and, with one glance spare to meet Aziraphale's eyes for a moment, began to unbutton Aziraphale's shirt.

Aziraphale focused on Crowley's fine face, letting him avoid maintaining eye contact. Wrinkles stood out to him, made deeper by the angle of light that lit him. His eyes were full yellow, uncontrolled and surrounded by bruises of exhaustion. Ruined clumps of hair in residual gel hung down across his forehead. Frown lines and laugh lines competed, both drowned out by creases of stress.

"My dear friend," Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley's frown lines worsened. His eyebrows pitched up in sadness and his hands pressed into Aziraphale's belly slightly, where he was still slowly working on the buttons.

"I sincerely mean that, Crowley," Aziraphale said.

Aziraphale watched, aghast, as Crowley's lower lip trembled, then was bitten hard until it stopped. 

"Alright, alright, I hear ya," Crowley said lightly, in a tone Aziraphale didn't believe. "No need to keep on it."

Crowley pulled his arms back to himself as he finished unbuttoning Aziraphale's shirt, looking up with a cockily raised eyebrow and eyes that simply looked sad.

"Thank you," Aziraphale whispered. He shucked his shirt off and turned to place it over the same hook as his jacket, then quickly pulled off his undershirt before his courage left him. 

He turned back to Crowley, shirtless and bare, and found him staring. The forced casualness of Crowley’s expression had left, dropped immediately as Aziraphale revealed himself.

Crowley blinked and looked up slowly, his eyes catching on various points of Aziraphale's chest as he raised them to meet Aziraphale's steady gaze. 

Crowley let out a breath, a light moan or exclamation on the back of it. 

"What do you think?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley blinked again, his expression slack. "You're beautiful, of course you are," he whispered.

Aziraphale touched his own belly, tracing the indent of his stretch marks familiarly. They were unlike human ones, manifesting as a dark gold gash rather than a pale line. In this near-no light they didn't have enough to reflect or glow as they usually did and simply appeared as black scratches on his stomach, hips, and arms. 

"My old colleagues hated my body," Aziraphale muttered, "they let me know."

He ran his hands to the side of his ribs, standing with his elbows crooked to touch himself. His fingers rested naturally in the dips between his ribcage, he could feel the steady thrum of his pulse and his slow breaths beyond that. He pressed harder into his skin and felt the shimmer of ethereal energy in his core. "They couldn't see what it offers," he continued, "the vitality and worth of it."

Crowley hand jerked at his side, fingers curling in gently.

Aziraphale knew what it meant, that Crowley wanted to touch him. Their usual dance would instruct that he ignore the gesture, let the moment of desire pass unacknowledged. But their usual dance would also have never allowed for Aziraphale to stand shirtless before Crowley and describe what he likes about himself. 

In fact, Aziraphale had never been allowed to do this before. In any context. Even alone, Heaven would spot it, Gabriel could sniff out confidence and squeeze it from you with a pitying smile. 

Fuck the old dance, then.

"You can touch me," Aziraphale offered.

Crowley met his eyes again, his gaze having fallen to follow Aziraphale's exploration of himself. Crowley took a sharp breath, releasing it quickly, then stepped forward and placed his hands flat on Aziraphale's stomach. 

His hands were cold on Aziraphale’s skin, but the feel of them made Aziraphale warm.

Crowley's eyes glimmered in the low glow from Aziraphale's core. They watched each other closely.

"They only saw the sin it may reflect," Aziraphale muttered.

"Sin?" Crowley breathed, eyebrows raising in clear disbelief. His fingers crawled higher, slipping into the first fold of fat. He paused and dipped his head in question. Aziraphale nodded once and removed his hands from his side, clearing the way for his exploration. 

"Gluttony, sloth," Aziraphale listed as Crowley's hands inched higher.

"No. No, you're breathtaking."

Aziraphale smiled. Crowley's hands were at his pecs now, pressing gently into the fat there, his fingers tracing the dark lines that led to his underarms. "I agree," Aziraphale said warmly. "I've always liked this. It took a great deal to give it to you, to risk letting it go."

Crowley glanced up at him, his eyes brighter than before. "I didn't peek."

"I can see that," Aziraphale said warmly. Crowley's pure curiosity rather proved that. His fingers followed the stretch marks to Aziraphale's arm, moving with such tenderness it bordered on ticklish. Crowley's eyes followed the track of his fingers closely.

"They're gold in the light," Aziraphale said.

"Really?" Crowley breathed. His hand trembled on Aziraphale's arm.

"Thank you for saving me, Crowley."

Crowley hands stilled, then fell to his side.

"I should be indebted to you for it," Aziraphale continued, "but I do not feel as though I owe you."

"You don't," Crowley said, the words haggard. "We saved each other, and I-" He indicated Aziraphale vaguely, looking away as he did. "This is- you need to be here."

"With you," Aziraphale added.

"That's not what I meant."

"It's what I meant."

Crowley's face was still for a moment, then it shattered. Age and exhaustion pulled at his expression mercilessly. His eyes opened wide and he choked on nothing, his breath catching loudly in his throat. But it was the confusion in his eyebrows, the question in his moan that hurt Aziraphale most.

Aziraphale pulled Crowley close, bringing his head down to rest on Aziraphale's shoulder and wrapping an arm around his lower back to bring him in tight. Crowley's arms went around Aziraphale's shoulders and he leant into the embrace, letting himself be held. 

Aziraphale flattened his hand on Crowley's spine and stroked up slowly, then down, dragging over the fine silk shirt he wore. 

"I'm sorry I took so long," Aziraphale said into Crowley's hair. 

Crowley's head moved from side to side, disagreeing. "You haven't, you couldn't," Crowley muttered. He stood, arms sliding along Aziraphale shoulders until his hands caught Aziraphale's jaw and held. "Couldn't," he repeated breathlessly. "There's no- I don't-"

He looked so old. He looked ancient, all his years at once. His eyes full yellow and wet, deeper than they deserved to be, more pained than they ever should. 

"You look so tired," Aziraphale said. 

Crowley nodded, his mouth catching sadly. "I'm exhausted," he sighed.

Aziraphale nodded and unclasped his hands around Crowley, withdrawing to rest on his hips. "Go ahead to bed, dear. I'll be along soon."

Crowley stepped closer, refusing. He tipped into Aziraphale again, the side of his head resting against Aziraphale's cheekbone. 

Aziraphale turned his head and let his lips touch Crowley's ear. "I'll be along," he promised. 

Crowley shivered and retreated. He faced Aziraphale as he walked, moving backwards towards the bed until the last moment when he slithered under the sheets. 

Aziraphale summoned a set of pajamas into the room, then knelt to work his shoes off. If he trusted Crowley any less he might have struggled to take his pants off under observation, but as it was he knew Crowley wouldn't read anything into it more than one must remove their trousers to get changed. 

"I could make a skylight?" Crowley asked as Aziraphale tried the front of his pajama pants up. "So you have something to look at."

Relief flooded Aziraphale, confirmation of his trust. The near-normalacy of this was unbelievably but completely natural.

"No need," Aziraphale said. He pulled the shirt on and joined Crowley as he finished buttoning it. 

Crowley moved over to give him room under the sheets. "You're going to sleep?"

"I doubt it," Aziraphale admitted. He settled in and closed his eyes, aware of the pull of gravity towards Crowley, where the mattress dipped, but unwilling to interfere with Crowley’s sleep by reaching across to him. "But don't let that stop you, dear."

Crowley chuckled and moved. By the pull of the sheets Aziraphale gathered he had rolled away, facing the edge of the bed. Aziraphale joined his fingers atop his stomach and closed his eyes, comforted by the sound of Crowley's breath nearby and that he hadn't been kicked out of the flat for being too forward.

Time passed quietly and Aziraphale felt calm. 

Crowley rolled over again and sighed. Aziraphale gave it a moment, but then he moved again, fidgeting mere feet away.

Aziraphale turned to face him. His eyes were open, watching. 

"Can I help you sleep?" Aziraphale asked. "Or am I a hinderance?"

"No, not- this is nice," Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale smiled. "I thought you didn't like nice?"

Crowley's teeth gleamed in the dark as he grinned. "I don't do nice. S'okay when you do."

"Ah," Aziraphale said lightly, "good to know."

Crowley chuckled and closed his eyes. Before long his breathing quietened and events out and Aziraphale watched as he slept.

-

Crowley moved in the night. Not often, but often enough the Aziraphale felt sure he hadn't fallen asleep yet. 

They'd lain together for an hour now, the air all quiet breaths and rustling sheets. Aziraphale's doubt had slowly grown as Crowley's discomfort intensified, his breath unsettled and audibly shallow. 

Crowley had seemed to like touching Aziraphale. At least, he hadn't refused to do so. And he'd said kind things. At least. Not unkind.

Perhaps Aziraphale had overstepped. 

He closed his eyes to the dark of the room and saw the dancing sparks of his eyelids. He'd been giddy from the day, their success over heaven and hell, their drinking at the Ritz. He'd shaked off the alcohol on the taxi ride over, but the abundant joy had hung on until now. 

Had he misunderstood their side? Negotiated and weasled his way into Crowley's bed? 

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathed. He kept his voice barely spoken in case Crowley was actually asleep, just fidgeting more than last time. 

But he was right, Crowley was awake.

The sheets tugged under Aziraphale's arm as Crowley rolled to face him. "Yeah?"

Aziraphale swallowed, his throat clicking in the quiet. "Do you want me to leave?"

Hair moved over a pillow, the sound scratchy. 

"No," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale opened his eyes, seeing the dark waves of the chiffon canopy above him. "If I'm keeping you up-"

Crowley's fingers touched his hip, silencing Aziraphale. They tiptoed across his exposed skin, where his shirt had ridden up, until they reached his elbow.

Aziraphale let out his breath, shaken by this.

Crowley fingers settled on his elbow, his hand curling to hold his joint gently, shifting slightly in the soft fleece.

"Never," Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, refusing to let the onslaught of doubt and sorrow take him. It swelled in him briefly but he beat it back, trusting and loving Crowley as he knew Crowley deserved. 

He reached blindly, his other hand feeling across himself to meet Crowley's hand. Crowley's fingers were clutched onto Aziraphale's elbow, so Aziraphale laid his hand open palmed over Crowley's and held him in place.

Crowley grip loosened, his fingers rearranging so that Aziraphale could slip his into a weave. Aziraphale's thumb curled under Crowley's pointer finger eagerly. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes again and found Crowley's eyes were bright and cognisant, focused on him in the dark. "Is this a bother?" Aziraphale asked.

"You were holding me," Crowley croaked, "last time I slept."

Aziraphale shook his head. "Just your hand."

Crowley's hand tightened, his knuckles flexed under Aziraphale's palm. "You were holding all of me."

"After you woke, yes," Aziraphale admitted at a whisper. "I waited for you to wake, in case you didn't want a bar of it."

Crowley was quiet. Then, "I'm awake now," he whispered.

Aziraphale felt a smile grow on his face and spent a moment trying to tamper it down. His happiness fought him, however, and won, and so he smiled.

"Go on, then," Aziraphale invited, rearranging his arms so his side was open to Crowley.

Crowley didn't hesitate, just dived in against him and seemed to melt into place. He filled the nooks and crannies of Aziraphale's body perfectly, laying on his side to face Aziraphale and wriggling in close. His hand rested on Aziraphale's chest, his other curled under his own body, fingers tucked into the gap left by the curve of Aziraphale's back. 

Aziraphale lowered his arm, shifting Crowley so he could wrap around him and confirm his hold. Crowley lifted his head to allow it and moved somehow closer to rest his cheek on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Nothing was said for some time, but every time Aziraphale turned to peek at Crowley, to check if he was asleep yet, the dear demon's eyes would crack open in greeting.

Eventually Aziraphale gave up on staying quiet enough to let him sleep, and instead spoke his thoughts into the room.

"We are entwined," Aziraphale murmured. Crowley shifted in surprise, then rolled to peer at him curiously from his vantage point of resting on Aziraphale's chest. "Closer than any two have been since Adam produced Eve from his own flesh."

Crowley snorted politely. "We are not," he said lightly.

Aziraphale's smile was so large his cheeks twinged from it. "No?"

"We don't even like the same books."

Aziraphale laughed and pushed Crowley away. Crowley made an offended sound, but didn't resist when Aziraphale grabbed at him to bring him close by his side again. "Go to sleep, Crowley. May your dreams be pleasant and kind."

"Don't bless me," Crowley grumbled, "you know it's itchy."

"Oh," Aziraphale said sarcastically, "my apologies, dear."

Crowley grumbled a wordless complaint in Aziraphale's shoulder, but was not so offended as to leave so Aziraphale simply laughed and enjoyed holding him.

Crowley's breathing evened out and Aziraphale began to think he may have fallen asleep at last. 

The night grew slightly dull, Crowley's steady breaths lulled him to a calmness so complete he'd never known it before. But there was nothing to do here. The books in his bedside table appealed to him, but not enough to risk waking Crowley by moving to reach them. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes and carefully remembered each word from The Importance Of Being Earnest, reading the script from his memory and entertaining himself in silence as Crowley slept on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waheyy this took a little longer than i'd hoped to post! I'm in Australia, in Melbourne, and we got put into a massive corona lockdown (curfew, no retail, can only leave the house one hour a day, it's full on) and it just spun me out and I didn't look at this fic for like two weeks. So I'd apologise except I absolutely needed the time to make sure i was okay. But i'm very glad to be cheerful and stable enough again to be fanfictioning <3
> 
> There's a small epilogue coming later today, but I'm meeting my dad in a few minutes for a one hour, socially distant walk so I'm posting this before I bounce and will proof the lat chapter one last time before it's done. Love you all!


	6. Just an Epilogue

"Hey, angel," Crowley muttered, the words muffled by Aziraphale's chest. 

Aziraphale startled, his mind had strolled in the hours of silence between them. The sun could be nearly up by now, but in this solid room that hardly mattered. 

"Yes, dear?"

Crowley didn't shift to make his voice clearer, instead just whispering in Aziraphale's shirt. "I don't mind how you want to talk about things, or if you don't want to talk and just want to settle and- you know, plod along. I won't- I'm pretty well, is my point. Glad to be getting some rest, I admit, but my point is, well…"

Aziraphale waited, but Crowley seemed to have lost his thread. 

As Aziraphale waited, he connected some dots that Crowley had left hanging. Perhaps he'd pushed a little far tonight. They had no history of intimacy like this, it was a lot to assume and he had assumed it so boldly. It may well be that come the morning Aziraphale would need to leave and give Crowley some space.

Aziraphale had loved it here, without doubt, but perhaps Crowley was having second thoughts after he'd slept.

That would be reasonable, but the likelihood of it was upsetting nonetheless.

"Make your point, please," Aziraphale said.

Crowley moved to rest his entire arm on Aziraphale's chest, looking up at him from his lower vantage point. His eyes glimmered. "Hey, it's nothing bad," he said gently. "I'm sorry."

Aziraphale wondered how Crowley had recognised his slight sadness, he had thought he'd kept it to himself fairly well. Apparently he was known better than that.

"Is this all a bit much?" Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley smiled, the tone of it apologetic. "This is great. So great. Terrific. Better than, they haven't made up the words for it."

Aziraphale relaxed his muscles, then let the words lay on him for a moment before he truly did relax. His amusement bubbled, then came to the forefront.

"You give up on language after terrific?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smirked and rolled back around to curl into the crook of Aziraphale's shoulder.

"My point," Crowley introduced quietly. "I have one thing to ask for, and that's it. And it's not even that big of a thing, it doesn't matter, so if you want to say no that's okay, I'll be fine-"

"I'll hear it, please," Aziraphale interrupted. 

"Let's- I mean, can you- I- I just-" he went quiet. Aziraphale could feel him fiddling with his own fingers, the movement covered in darkness but nervous all the same. "It was the candles, you see."

"What were the candles?" Aziraphale asked.

"You said, to talk to Metatron."

"Yes."

Crowley swallowed. "No more of that," he whispered.

"Heaven?" Aziraphale checked. Oh gosh, he hadn't done as good a job as he'd thought. Crowley still had doubts, if he had to ask such a question his doubts must be quite convincing. 

"Yes," Aziraphale murmured, "I've already come to that realisation, my dear." He paused and wrapped his arm in around Crowley, running his thumb over Crowley's forearm gently. "I'd much rather be by you."

"That's-" Crowley went quiet. His head went heavy against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Really?" he breathed.

Aziraphale swallowed his regret. "Of course."

Crowley was still and breathed evenly. Aziraphale felt his smile form slowly, his lips and cheek shifting into happiness pressed up against Aziraphale’s shoulder. How nice to feel a change in Crowley’s body rather than see it, to be so close his skin knew how Crowley felt.

"That's not what I meant, though," Crowley said.

Aziraphale doubted that, but he'd play along. "Oh?"

Crowley took a slow breath, it was loud. "The fire," he said heavily. "No more. Not in the shop, at least. It burns very fast, all that paper."

"You went in," Aziraphale said as he realised. His chest went cold, like his lungs froze and tightened. He hadn't pieced it all together yet, the time he was absent for, when he’d discorporated. He hadn't had a chance to reflect properly, but this sounded bad. "To pick up the prophecy book."

"I didn't know about the prophecy book," Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale scoffed. He must’ve had some reason, Crowley was rash but not actually self-destructive. "You could have been hurt,” Aziraphale scolded, “you shouldn't've-"

"Couldn't not," Crowley snapped, writhing in Aziraphale's arms. "You might've-" 

Crowley's words bit off, unfinished. But Aziraphale heard it all regardless and his heart stuttered, then dropped. He remembered this fear from when Crowley had first asked for holy water, the fear of being the cause of his hurt or demise. It had been some time since he’d felt it, and it was an awful feeling. 

But he knew, quite fully, that he’d’ve done the same in turn, so he was hardly going to tell Crowley off now. And he remembered how Crowley had looked when he’d thought Aziraphale gone. 

Crowley was still struggling to speak, his expression still full of unspoken admission. Aziraphale turned and smiled, hoping to ease the words into their world.

"Maybe help you," Crowley muttered.

Perhaps this was what having a side was about. Reciprocal behaviour. No more would Aziraphale sacrifice himself for Heaven with nothing in return. Now he might know that it would go both ways, in all it’s seriousness. 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley in and hugged him close. Both his arms wrapped around Crowley, enveloping him entirely with no false casualness.

"It's okay, I'll get used to candles," Crowley said into Aziraphale's neck, where his face was now pressed. "I know you like them."

"They've always been a bit messy, really," Aziraphale choked out. He was determined not to sound upset, although he was distressed by the image of Crowley entering a burning building in search of him. He did like candles, but that hardly mattered. "And they make the place smell like smoke for hours. Honestly, I appreciate the opportunity to be rid of them."

Crowley's arms found their way to Aziraphale's side, hugging him in turn. Their legs slipped together, alternating and tangling tightly. 

"Well," Crowley said, his voice caught. "You're welcome."

"I'm glad we're here," Aziraphale sighed, "and together."

Crowley huffed a laugh. The air tickled Aziraphale's ear and he shivered. "Alright, alright, I hear ya," Crowley said.

"What's that?" 

"That point you've been making all blessed day."

"What point is that, my dear?" Aziraphale asked, all innocence.

"If I say it, will you shut up and let me sleep?"

Aziraphale chuckled, it had hardly been his fault that Crowley had things on his mind tonight, and promised. "Cross my heart," he said.

Crowley shifted around, his knee poking into Aziraphale's thigh. "We'll be okay," Crowley whispered, "so long as we're together."

Aziraphale smiled up at the black roof. "That's not quite it, actually," he said, "But I like that better."

"What's yours, then?"

Aziraphale rolled his head to face Crowley again. His yellow eyes were half closed but gleaming in the dark. "I trust you."

Crowley's eyes shut. "Oi, I knew that already," he mumbled. "Bit late to the party, aren't you?"

Aziraphale grinned and held back from laughing so as to not jostle the demon. "Shut up and go to sleep."

"Sounds grand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and! we! are! done! well done everyone. i'll try and respond to comments now but please know that i love you and thank you for commenting and reading and go team!
> 
> This scene really could've been in the last chapter, but i wanted Crowley to ask for something for himself as a sort of focus cos he's really just been there for Aziraphale so far, and last chapter got a little long really. Love these boys, they're very chill. They're not chill at all, what am i talking about. They've bonkers. But they love each other and thats nice. I'm going to end this authors note cos im rambling

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr with the same url if you wanna get in touch or anything <3


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